Latest Poetry

Driving down the highway

West 80 towards San Francisco

& I'm going to Berkeley

to see a 70's punk band, the Avengers

& how surreal is this?

for a Boston boy

who might've done this 30 years ago

if he wasn't 3000 miles away

But tonight

I sail in the darkness

& the flickering lights

of the houses and restaurants

along the highway

reflecting

lives that have mostly lived here

for decades

& I'm coasting through

on one of my first visits

on unknown stretches of road

like I don't belong, I'm intruding

like it's some kind of dream somewhere

I feel I'm not supposed to be here

but felt that many times back home

it's just a strange experience

but a good one

& I just smile

at this crazed feeling of freedom

as I glide into the night

& the unknown

Poetry

She's got a little backpack

and a frame that's not quite a woman, maybe 15

he's got black hair and died blond locks, ( same age as her)

hanging straight in his eyes

& a perpetual grin

trying to signify, irony and awareness

but it really conceals

akwardnesss and shyness, I sense

She dances and jumps up and down

as the sound system plays techno/punk music

he grins and nods, and then it's the Buzzcocks

She jumps some more

he's still grinning and nodding

She has Doc Marten like shoes and dark hair dyed a reddish tint

& eyes that are beautiful

as only a womans or girls eyes can be

They're nerds and outcasts

trying to turn their unpopularity

into a private crusade

He doesn't say anything

& she jumps a little more

& they'd never believe

How perfect I see them

or how perfect

they are now

or that they'll ever be